Sepulo, Vampire
by TheOtherLachance
Summary: A oneshot. Poor, poor Sepulo: all he ever wanted was someone to love him... but all he ever got was hate.


!NOTE FROM LACHANCE!  
JUST A LITTLE ONESHOT (UNLESS PEOPLE WANT ME TO CONTINUE THIS STORY) ABOUT MY SECONDARY CHARACTER SEPUTO, TO GET ME BACK INTO WRITING. THIS WON'T BE AMAZING, AND WAS A LITTLE RUSHED, SO APOLOGIES, BUT ENJOY, AND I'M GETTING BACK ON PHOENIX RISING. I HAVE TO SAY, THOUGH, I WOULDN'T MIND WRITING A STORY ABOUT SEPUTO'S ADVENTURES, IN THIRD PERSON. WELL, ONCE AGAIN, THIS ISN'T AMAZING BUT... THERE YOU GO, MORE PHOENIX ON THE WAY :P

Nobody went up to the Quiet Men's Castle. My mother warned me against it from a young age, never giving me a reason, but the idea that I would die if I went up there was enough for my childish mind. I didn't want to die- in our village, dying was something different. If you died, we were such a close-knit community, that everybody mourned you. To present the idea of death, dear reader, I'll give you an image. A funeral procession.

Imagine me, an eight year old boy, with long, lank brown hair that covered my eyes, and skin as pale as death, walking slowly behind the coffin bearers. A mute is what they would call me, because I was the professional mourner. When your grandfather is the village gravedigger, you tend to get jobs like that. People lining the streets, heads bowed, as several strong men walked with sombre faces towards the graveyard where the corpse would soon lie. My grandfather stood on by, shovel in hand, with the dead person's family behind him, sobbing. The coffin was small... child-sized. Yes, reader, the person lying in the coffin, who had already been embraced by death, was nothing more than a six year old girl. With two, red puncture marks in her neck. I'd watched my grandfather prettying the body up; he always removed the clothes and replaced them, and powdered the face to make the body look beautiful in death. He was an artist, not a digger. I'd hidden in the corner, peeking out from behind the door, as he readied the girl for burial; I'd seen the marks myself. Only served to prove the fact that us village children practically knew, if only from rumour and storytelling.

The Quiet Men were real. And they'd killed someone.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"That's not true."

I sat in the village square, surrounded by every single one of the other village children. I was eight years old, one of the younger ones, but I was respected, probably because all of the other kids were scared of me. Maybe it was my usually reclusive attitude, or the fact that my grandfather was teaching me the trade of handling dead bodies, but mostly they just left me alone to read, or make up my own games. Honestly, it didn't bother me, but sometimes the fact that I was always alone preyed on my mind. I had enough imaginary friends, from ten years of having no real friends, to create an army.

Sometimes, however, I couldn't help but talk to the other kids, and in a situation where I knew something they didn't -and I had proof that all the old stories about the Quiet Men were true- I had to tell them. But apparently, not everyone was so in awe of my story. A large boy with hair the colour of fox fur had stood up, and had his huge hands on his hips, and was staring at me accusingly.

"That's not true, Sepulo." "It is," I replied, outraged. What did this fat boy know, anyway? HE hadn't seen the body, I had proof. "I saw the body- and the neck had puncture holes, just like the stories say." That was sure to floor him. Every single detail I'd seen about the body, the scratch marks along her neck, and those holes in her neck... It was like the old legends said. And it was coming true, so why weren't they all in awe? Some of them looked terrified, others excited, but some had looks of doubt on their faces. Frowning, I stood up. "It is true; you all didn't see the body, and I did. Puncture holes in her neck, scratch marks along her neck and chest..."

Some of them, especially the younger ones, gasped and grabbed at older siblings, and for a second, I thought they all finally appreciated what I was saying. Satisfied, I sat back, and tried to look sad to mask the glee that was bubbling up inside me. But then, the ginger boy spoke up again, and my satisfaction evaporated.

"I think you're lying. You're just the weirdo kid; you aren't even a Nord like the rest of us. You're a Breton, and I think you shouldn't even be allowed to read old Nordic stories. My father says that us Nords should run you pathetic High Rock people out of town, especially your grandpapa. Graves are stupid; cremation is the real, traditional way of sending our ancestors off to the afterlife. You've just brought all your dumb customs with you, from your milk-drinkers land, and I don't think it should be allowed. Stop making things up; she just died, okay? Just because you want to make a stir, doesn't mean you should make things up like that about people's daughters, okay?" He's met with a rousing cheer, and I shrink away. Why is it that all these brats are so fickle? Anger fills me from his open mocking of my country and my heritage- how dare he be so rude, the filthy Nord pig? But I won't say anything... he'll just beat me up. The kids that were one second ago terrified of my story are now laughing at me. I feel like I want to die. "You should just go, you little Breton milk dringer Sepulo, and don't come back. Why don't you just go and kill yourself?" And with that, they all walk off, chattering, and following the red haired kid with looks of open admiration. I stayed sitting there, all alone, with no friends to comfort me.

So I ran crying home.

When I got past the threshold of my door, I flung myself onto the floorboards and howled out my hurt. It was true- I'd seen it myself, and this boy had launched in a racist tirade to me? It was worse than if he'd bloodied my nose; he'd insulted my very being, and told me to go kill myself. He was only an eight year old boy, but it couldn't have felt worse if the High King of Skyrim had suggested I leave, called me a milk-drinker, and kill myself.

And, at only eight years old, I so desperately wanted to do so.

XXXXXXXXX

It got worse. By the time I was twelve, the namecalling and empty threats had turned to fullout blows. I was still certain that the Quiet Men existed, although I'd never possessed the courage to go up to their castle and explore. I desperately wanted to, but... I guess I never had the courage. I never had the courage to do anything.

I was walking home from school, and a group of them, all Nord boys with fists as large as my head, starting coming after me. My feet were slow and tired after the days exertions, but gritting my teeth, I forced myself to try and run away from them. Tossing my satchel to the floor (I knew they had no interest in my schoolbooks) I ran for it up the street, kicking up dust from the path behind me into their faces. Six of them, led by Flynn, the red haired boy, were chasing after me, screaming about how much pain they would put me through. I knew they would eventually catch me, they always did, but I was never brave enough to stop. Somehow, I always kept the feeble hope that I might get away, although I never did.

Sprinting down the road, sweat running down my face, I leapt over the fence into the wilderness and out of sight of the road. Ducking down, in a clump of bracken, I waited with bated breath, praying to Arkay, Akatosh, Mara, and every single God I could think of that they wouldn't find me... Hah, I guess I never learned. After a few moments of fevered, fevered praying, I felt a heavy weight jump onto my back, and cried out with pain as a huge knee found my face. I felt the blood streaming out of my nose as the lump on top of me screamed, "Found him! He's here!" And I heard the thumping of footsteps coming over, and wheezy laughter. The lump sitting on top of me got up, and dragged me by the hair on to the road, and then all six of them began to kick me, crunching their boots on my face. Tears streaming out of my eyes, I curled up into a little ball and wept as they snorted with laughter, kicking me over and over again, winding me so many times. Then, I felt a heavy weight on top of me, and was forced painfully on to my back. Looking up into the face of Flynn.

"Flynn, please!" I begged, already in too much pain to endure anymore. "Let me go!" And he laughed. A fist smashed down into my face, and I felt my nose smash, and screamed out pain as blood poured down my face. They'd never taken it that far... some bruises and scrapes, but never breaking anything... Begging and pleading for no more pain, I heard their catcalls and cheers as Flynn began to bloody my face, punching me again and again until I practically lost vision.

"Go home to High Rock, Breton..."  
"Fucking milk-drinker... why don't you just eat my shit..."  
"I'm gonna go to your house and fuck your mum, your dad, your grandad, and your fucking dog, you piece of living shit..."  
"Stop making up bull and talking about childhood stories, you son of a bitch..."

And so on. And so on. Until my ears were ringing with insults. They told me they were going to kill me, rape my mother, kill everyone in my family... It was too much to bear. I kicked and thrashed, but they just held me down, kicking and pummelling me until I was too weak to even cry. Then, they walked off, leaving me there on the road. Down like a dog. I knew they'd never kill me, nor would they do anything to my family; they didn't have the guts. I so hoped that the Quiet Men would come and kill them, and take me too. Because, after years of bullying for just one story, I didn't feel the need to live anymore. How could they have taken something like me telling them a TRUE story (even if it wasn't something they wanted to hear?) and turn it to this? I just lay there, in a puddle of my own blood, with my nose broken, both my eyes blackened, and bruises and cuts covering the skin all over me. Was I dead? I could barely feel the pain anymore.

I lay there on the road for a little longer, before getting up and staggering home. My mother and father didn't live with us; they lived in nearby Falkreath, where they worked. It was just me and my grandfather.

He was sitting at the table, reading a letter as I lurched through the door and shut it behind me. Not wanting him to turn around and see my face, I walked towards the wash basin, and began to wash some of the blood from my face. It was hurting so much that I could hardly touch my face, now, and the delicious numbness of feeling dead was gone. The second I touched my face, I felt a wave of nausea rush over me, and I fell backwards onto the floor, smashing my head on the hard wooden floorboards. I heard a gasp, and the sound of footsteps on the floor. My grandfather's voice was the last thing I heard before I blacked out.

XXXXXXXXX

It happened so many times. Neither me or my grandfather ever did anything about it- when I came home with a bloody face, he would just silently heal me, then go back to his work. I considered running away so many times, but I could never do it. What else did I have, apart from that hell hole of a village? I remember a time, when I was eight years old, I could be solitary and make my own fun with out getting made fun of. Well, at least, since then, I'd sort of been proved right about the Quiet Men thing. I didn't believe in the story anymore, but it was nice to know I may not have been wrong. More bodies appeared, with holes in their necks. Forty, over the eight years since that first victim. People were starting to get suspicious, and some people even suspected the Quiet Men story: a group of men who lived up in the castle, who would occasionally come down to our village to feed on human blood using their teeth. It seemed to fit, anyway, but most thought it was vampires. A few slayers had come around, taken the money the village offered them, and left; it was common for conmen like that to take advantage of a place in desperation.

It was at that point, when I was sixteen, that I first fell in love.

Her name I was Merope, and she had blonde hair and smelled like vanilla. I was walking home one day when I first saw her properly; I'd been in a class with her at school for too many years to remember, but never had we talked to one another. I hadn't seen her in a while, because I'd stopped going to school and started training in my grandfather's trade when I was fourteen, and she'd carried on learning. Her grandmother had recently died, and I'd gone in a horse and cart down the valley to collect her. My heart stopped the second I caught a glimpse of Merope's face.

"I know you." she'd said, and smiled a smile that evoked strange feelings in me. My heart began to beat faster and faster; the beginning of a passion. "We were in school together. You're Sepulo, right? The gravedigger's grandson?" I nodded dumbly, too in awe to even speak. Somehow, despite the fact I was trying to tame my facial features into a friendly expression, I must have looked ridiculous because she laughed. For a second, my passion was gone at her laugh, and I felt a growing anger... then my anger evaporated. It wasn't a cruel laugh, not like Flynn's. It was a kind laugh, the first I'd heard in my entire life. We talked for a while, her and I, before her older brother came out and helped me load the woman into the back in her coffin. Riding home, I felt like a bird soaring over the mountain tops, because Merope REMEMBERED me!

I saw her again at her grandmother's funeral, and she cried onto my shoulder. Although I knew I should be sad for her, I couldn't help but feel elated by the fact that this girl was crying on my shoulder. So I held her, and hoped that someday, she might feel the same for me as I did for her.

How could anything go right for me?

Ten minutes after the funeral, I walked alone back into the village (as she had walked ahead), and do you know what I saw? I saw her and Flynn in a heavy, intimate embrace, practically glued together at the mouth. It begun to rain and I just stood there, in the pouring rain as they kissed, and it was like the Gods were raining their tears down upon me. For the one thing in my life I had loved, loved the thing I hated most. And felt nothing for me. Any other person would've stormed up to them, and dragged them away, maybe fought Flynn... But I didn't have the nerve. I never have the nerve to do anything, even when the girl I loved was being kissed by my worst enemy. My heart broke. I couldn't cry; I was too numb for tears. Flynn, who'd always had anything he wanted, had finally taken something away from me that I could never get back. Merope.

Eventually, the two of them broke apart and she walked off back to her cottage, and he turned around to go and tell his friends of his new conquest... and saw me, staring at him, soaked with rain water.  
"What are you looking at, Sepulo?" he said, his hothead making him want to fight. Hah, I never fight back, I just take the beating and run home. Maybe I am a milkdrinker, what of it? I refused to answer him, and just stared at him in the pouring rain, my eyes heavy with hatred. He'd taken everything good from my life, he'd beaten me bloody countless times, and stolen my girl. I wanted him DEAD. "Eh, Sepulo? What d'you want? What're you looking at me for, son of a bitch, want a fight, do you?"

I just stared at him. How could he think I'd even lower myself to fight him anymore? My hatred was so intense, I could barely even look at him. Years of torment, years of dislike, and what had I even done to him? Nothing. A growl emerged deep from his throat and he launched himself at me, fists flying, and caught me hard where my heart was. And for the first time in eight years, I fought him back.

Although I wasn't nearly as big as my attacker, I was wiry from years of carrying a coffin and digging, and I could hold out my own in that fight. My anger had taken me over, and my entire body was screaming for me to kill the red haired devil... A fist caught me in the face, and I returned it with an uncertain one of my own, making him laugh. Another laugh at me as he got up and begun to kick me, and... years of being in this position. Him kicking me, laughing at me... I COULDN'T TAKE IT! Launching myself to my feet with a scream of pent-up emotion, I punched him so hard in the face he fell backwards, swearing loudly. Straddling him, I began to rain blows into his fat, horrible face as he had done to me so many times before, and it was like every part of me needed to do this.

Then, I did something that changed my life forever.

Reaching into my belt, I grabbed the knife that my grandfather had given me, in case I was attacked on the road. And sunk it into Flynn's ribs. It was harder than I thought, stabbing someone, and it took a lot of pressure. I wasn't quite sure if I'd done it right, but his piggish squeal of agony confirmed that I'd done the right thing. My confidence accelerated, and my mind completely gone, I stabbed him again and again, everywhere all over him, wanting him to feel all the pain I had over eight years... Then, when I was sure he was almost dead, and the blood from his body was covering me everywhere, I did the thing I'd been itching to do since he first beat me.

I stood up, staring down at his bloodied body, with his innards and flesh splashed everywhere, and I began to kick him, laughing insanely, my mind completely gone. Then, I felt a strange hunger come over me. A hunger as old as time itself. Falling to my knees, I bent my head so my nose was just above one of his deepest wounds, and sniffed... the smell of blood filled me, fulfilling me completely, but there was one more thing I had to do. Leaning down, I began to lick the blood away, and felt it's strong, salty savour in my mouth, and... and my hunger was taken away, as I drank his blood greedily, face covered in the red liquid... Then, I heard a scream, and looking upwards, I saw Merope, face pale and drained of all colour, staring at me with her face full of horror. She stood there, rooted to the spot, and for a moment I felt another rush of love for her... Then I remembered the image of her kissing Flynn, and her unfaithfullness drove me into another peak of insanity. Crushing my foot down on Flynn's bloody neck, killing him once and for all, I advanced towards the girl I had previously loved, and held my blade high... She was paralysed, unable to move for fear, as I stabbed the blade deep int her heart, breaking hers like she'd broken mine. I have to admit, I didn't want to hurt her, just to show her the pain she'd caused me. She fell down dead instantly as my knife struck her heart...

Still on a murderous rampage I turned around... and saw the entire village staring at me... and the guardsmen with their weapons raised high, ready to kill me for this double homicide. I was broken out of my insanity and, looking down, I saw what I'd done. I'd killed the girl I loved. A rush of cold ran through my body, from the ends of my lank brown hair to the tips of my fingernails as I saw her lying there, in a puddle of her own and Flynn's blood. Nobody moved. And then, I did. Lurching towards her body, I knelt by her side, and began to weep, sobbing my heart out. WHAT HAD I DONE? I'd killed her! I'd scarcely known her apart from a hasty kiss, a hug, a long talk, and... Looking to my left, I could still see the wet stain her tears had made on my shoulder. Slowly opening my mouth, I screamed. A scream of horror, of fear, or terror, and the realisation that I had murdered two people, one of them being the girl I loved.

And I ran. They followed me, but when I started scaling the mountain towards the Quiet Men's Castle, they stopped out of fear. Although the murders that had been happening recently were not certainly the work of the Quiet Men, nobody wanted to risk it... Apart from me. Years of cowardice had driven me to this: to wanting to prove myself in the most childish way I could, to prove Flynn wrong: they had done it, I was sure of it! Too insane to think of anything, I leapt over a rock, towards the great ruin of a castle, and began to bang my hands on the massive door, crying out for an answer, for someone to open the door and let me in, to prove myself, to free me from myself...

Then, the strangest thing that has ever happened to me happened.

I felt a pain in my skull, like someone had smashed a brick over my head; completely suddenly, without reason... Then, a feeling like cold liquid was running down my back, and I was out like a light.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Arkay knows how long I was asleep for; all I know is, that waking up completely changed my life. When first looked around, I thought I had gone blind, because the world was completely black and I couldn't see a thing. I hissed in shock, and tried to sit up, but I could feel that I was bound to some sort of table... terror began to pour into my heart, and I struggled against the binds that I could not see, trying, willing for them to break so I could find out what had happened. Then, I heard a voice in the blackness.

"Please don't struggle." My whole body stilled. The voice was oddly high, and hoarse, as if the person hadn't spoken for a long time. It wasn't an angry or threatening voice, it sounded more childish than anything, but I stilled completely anyway. I didn't want to upset someone who had me in a position of submission. "I'm not going to hurt you."

"Can you turn on a light... I can't see." I managed to struggle out, and I found my vocal cords were raspy, like the person who had spoken. I coughed, and tried to speak again, thinking that my voice was just underused from however long I'd been asleep, but I sounded the same. What was going on? What had happened to my voice?

"We don't have any light... Your eyes are shut. Open them, and you should be able to see... you've been here long enough."

It was true; my eyelids were down and I hadn't noticed... strange. With a frown, I realised that my eyes were gummed together slightly with sleep, but with a little effort, I managed to open them... and I gasped. All around me was a huge room, all completely in black and white... as was the small, hooded man standing over me. I frowned. Why was everything in black and white, rather than in colour? What was going on? "Where... where am I?" I asked, rubbing my eyes to see if something had happened, but my sight stayed the same. What had happened to me?

"Why, you're in the Castle of the Quiet Men. Isn't it where you wanted to be?"

A thrill of fear rushed through me. But, strangely, I wasn't as scared as I might've been. Tugging at my binds, I found they were loose, and I stood up, and realised that I was completely naked. For a second, I felt awkward in front of this hooded man... but my awkwardness evaporated quickly. He wasn't threatening, not at all.

"You... your people came down and killed some of the people in my village, didn't you? There are old wives tales about it." A laugh. A laugh that sounded like it was grating the back of the man's throat. Then, he spoke in a voice that was practically resonating with humour. "That is only an old wives tale, Sepulo. Your grandfather, the vampire, was the one killing those people. And it seems he bit you too... and managed to turn you into a vampire, which is probably what made you drink that man's blood." seeing the look of terror on my face, he chortled again, and put a freezing cold hand on my shoulder. "Don't worry, I'm a vampire too. Every single Quiet Man is a vampire, although we do not allow ourselves the pleasure of human blood... it deprives us, however, of speech and coloured eyesight, the eyesight because we have no pigment left in us, the speech... well, probably because our throats are so dry. I had to drain a whole human woman in order to speak to you... I must insist you join us. There is no life for you down there, Seputo. Join us, try and help us find a cure to the curse that is vampirism... and maybe some day, we will be able to walk outside again."

For a moment, I started to agree with him, then I realised something. To go without human blood. Remembering the taste of it as I drained Flynn, I moaned with pleasure, and then asked myself a single question.

Could I live a life of abstinence with the Quiet Men?

Or did I want to go and... pursue my "curse"?

Hmmm... That's a choice I still have to make, dear reader.

Seputo, vampire.


End file.
